


Unnatural Growth

by NervousOtaku



Series: Neo-City Series [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Minor Character Death, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousOtaku/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: Samkiel grows tired of his counselor.





	Unnatural Growth

_Sprigs of rowan tied with red string were said to ward off witches._

Samkiel was silent, boots thrown up onto the desk and hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

He didn't want to be here. The stupid counselor was the one who wanted to talk, so where was the guy? If Samkiel wanted to talk with him, he made sure he was on time, couldn't the bastard show the same decent courtesy?

Honestly.

Samkiel closed his eyes.

He had a handler, a trainer, a doctor, and a counselor. All he needed was the cook, groundskeeper, and maid. A complete freaking staff of people he didn't want around.

He didn't like people. He didn't want to be around them, didn't want to interact with them.

“Mr. Church, please, take your boots off my desk.” came the sharp voice of the counselor.

“Or what?” he challenged, not opening his eyes as the man walked around to the other side of the desk.

The man sighed, putting down what sounded like a stack of papers. “Anyway, Mr. Church, I have something I wish to speak with you about.”

About him running off after high-stress events? He'd gotten that lecture a dozen times already. He didn't want it any more.

“Why not a red-light district?”

His eyes snapped open, his hands left his head, and his boots slammed down onto the floor.

“Excuse me?!” he growled.

The counselor didn't look at all fazed. “The science department monitors your health, Mr. Church. You're given checkups after every event, so they know when you're having sex. But you're never seen heading to or leaving the red-light district.”

“She is not. A whore.” Samkiel ground out, glaring.

“Well, that's good. It'll be better for your image, and if she isn't a whore it's less likely that you'll end up catching some disease.” the man hummed, not looking up from his papers.

He was burning. Anger, no longer just agitation and irritation, but anger, welled up in him, demanding to be let out.

“Of course, if the public knew you had a lover, it would greatly humanize you. Your image would be much more relatable. However, you should consider moving her here. You'd be less stressed, and I image she would feel better as well.”

No.

Hell no.

They wanted to take Miss Atwood from her home. To remove her from the outer reaches and lock her up here in the company headquarters. He refused to let that happen. She didn't belong here. She belonged in her house in the outer reaches, with the rowan-hybrid and the swing and the picket fence. She didn't belong here.

Samkiel stood. The counselor didn't seem to notice, still yammering on about how much better things would be.

Everything was fine the way it was. Once Rowan came back and stopped trying to kill him, things would be perfect.

He held out a hand, concentrating.

He didn't want this counselor. He didn't need this counselor. And if this man and the head of the science department were going to force Miss Atwood out of her home, then he'd have to fix that. No one was allowed to touch the Atwoods.

As silver flames crackled to life in his palm, the counselor finally looked up.

“M-Mr. Church...?”

“I'm tired of listening to you. I don't like you. And now here you are trying to tell me what to do.” he growled, moving around the desk.

The counselor grew pale, scrabbling up and backing away. “N-now listen, Samkiel, I only want what's best for you, you know that, right...?”

“The best for the company, you mean.” he replied, lightly tossing the small holy fire from hand to hand. It was really starting to drain him. He'd have to make this quick.

“Now, Samkiel, please—”

He tackled the counselor.

The man went down like a sack of bricks, screaming in terror.

Grunting, feeling his nose start to bleed, Samkiel sat up, square on the man's chest.

“Get out of my life.” he ordered darkly.

The screams became louder as he shoved his hand down. The stink of burning hair and flesh quickly filled the room. The thrashing under him picked up before dropping off, trailing off into faint twitches. There was a crack under his fingertips, followed by a gush of wet warmth and squishy meat. Just for good measure, he kept pushing down. The blood and cranial fluid boiled and spattered, covering his hand. Some of the gore touched his cheek, way too hot, and some landed on his thighs or splattered on his shirt.

Finally content, Samkiel let the holy fire fizzle out. Slowly, he removed his hand from the dead man's brain. Sludge dripped from his fingers, an unappealing brown. Pop-culture made brains out to be pink, but they were really an ugly grayish mauve. Add in blood, and some fire to boil it all down, and the result was apparently this bowl of soup.

Shaking his hand off, Samkiel stood up. His nose was bleeding. He was light-headed. He wanted a bath.

Someone burst into the office. Security, no doubt.

The prick of the sedative-needle made just for him confirmed that. He was going to be dragged down to the labs while the mess was cleaned up and the body carried out. When he woke up, he'd get a lecture, and then he'd go see Miss Atwood. That was the way things like this went.

He collapsed to the floor with a grunt.

Yep.

Off to the labs.

He had killed a few of the scientists and doctors before. He was willing to be the lecture would be longer, since this was his personal counselor that they had picked out just for him, but it was going to run just the same.

Samkiel allowed himself to pass out.

_Sprigs of rowan tied with red string were said to ward off witches._


End file.
